


All I Have

by nectarimperial



Category: Show By Rock!! (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nectarimperial/pseuds/nectarimperial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>All things must have an end, but you don’t need to grieve. We will meet again.</i>
</p><p>“Come inside,” Shuuzo says at last, fingers wrapped around his keys. His eyes are pleading, begging, and his other hand grips tightly onto Rom’s vest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Have

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS MY FIRST SHOT AT SB69. i hope it's okay, haha.

“Isn’t that Shuuzo?” Yaiba asks, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray at the center of the table, nodding toward a corner of the bar. It makes Rom’s heart slow in his chest, and he grips the edge of his whiskey glass tightly, keeping his eyes locked on the amber liquor, trying not to look over this shoulder.

Crow looks at him and cocks an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat, a smug smirk plastered across his face. Snorting and bringing his beer to his lips, he says, “Gonna go over and say something? I know—“ but before he can finish, Aion elbows him in the ribcage, muttering a ‘shut up’ under his breath.  
  
“I’m sure he’s here with his friends after a live show,” Rom growls under his breath, slow and controlled, shooting back the rest of his alcohol.  
  
“But here?” Yaiba’s right—the bar is dingy at best, nestled in a dark corner of Shibu Vallley—but Rom doesn’t reply and the rest of his bandmates know better than to continue the conversation.  
  
Hanging his head in his hands, he gestures to the waitress for another whiskey, figuring that with a few more of these he could forget about tonight.

  
  
  
  
  
Forgetting isn’t as easy as Rom imagined, and he looks over his shoulder every five minutes to check and see if Shuuzo’s still sitting at the bar. It’s hard to tell it’s him—he’s dressed down from his usual appearance, but there’s no mistaking his gait. He carried himself like the princely figure he’d always been and always would be, and Rom’s heart skips a beat.  
  
His bandmates notice, and Rom doesn’t know if he’s annoyed or flattered at their attempts to distract him.  
  
“Let’s order another round,” Crow announces, bouncing up from his seat, and Rom’s breath hitches in his throat. He’d been staring again, hadn’t he?  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he mutters and turns back around, leaning back in his seat.  
  
  
  
  
  
A few more whiskeys and suddenly Shuuzo isn’t looking like such a bad idea, and for a second Rom panics—did _talking_ to Shuuzo not seem like a bad idea, or is the  _thought_  of Shuuzo not a bad idea? He might’ve had some semblance of embarrassment at the latter of the two thoughts, but his cheeks are already flushed with inebriation.  
  
Between his own alcohol and the vibrant red shots Crow had insisted on ordering, Rom’s wondering how he’s still hanging on to the edge of the table, world spinning and twisting and turning, or maybe that’s his stomach. He’s not really sure anymore.  
  
“I’m gonna go to,” Rom trails off, standing up, gripping the back of his chair.  
  
“—the bathroom?” Yaiba offers, and Rom laughs, tugging at his vest before making a large sweeping motion to the opposite corner of the bar.  
  
“No, talk to Shu,” he finishes, taking the rest of his whiskey with him and turning on the heel of his boot. His bandmates don’t have a chance to stop him.

  
  
  
  
  
It takes Rom a moment to find Shuuzo in his impaired state, but his blond-rainbow streaked hair is unmistakable—even if it’s carefully curled underneath an ostentatious hat. Rom wonders if he’s trying to hide his identity. _Probably,_ he rationalizes, Shuuzo’s dressed down more than usual, trading his bright colors for deep jewel tones. They’ve always suited him, Rom muses to himself.  
  
“The sun doesn’t shine indoors, you know,” Rom says, hanging on to the back of Shuuzo’s chair, leaning close to his face.  
  
Shuuzo groans into his vibrant pink cocktail and pulls his sunglasses down with a gloved hand, peering over the top of the frames, “It’s fashion. You wouldn’t know anything about it, though, would you?”  
  
“So who are you hiding from?” Rom asks, sliding into the barstool next to him, leaning his cheek on the palm of his hand. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the sober part of himself is screaming _what are you doing_ but it’s far from his conscious thought. All he can think about is how soft Shuuzo’s lips look, glossed with a faint layer of pink.  
  
The other man doesn’t say anything in reply, and swishes his tail back and forth, sliding his sunglasses back up his nose.  
  
“Paparazzi?” Rom wonders, “Oh—lovestruck fans? Record label? Mm, I know,” he snaps his fingers pointing in Shuuzo’s face, “Bunch of crazy girls?”  
  
“You don’t give up, do you?” Shuuzo muses, crossing his legs and turning in his stool, pulling off his gloves and glasses, setting them on the counter. Rom shakes his head and Shuuzo sighs, “I just wanted some alone time, I didn’t figure you and those rabble rousers you call ‘talent’ would be here, too.” 

Rom looks over his shoulder and Crow’s standing on the seat of the booth to meet Aion’s height, arguing about something inconsequential, Yaiba trying to keep the noise down. “They’re good friends,” he says quickly.  
  
“I see,” Shuuzo says, “Well, you smell like whiskey and poor choices, so I’m going to politely decline your company.” His tail is still swishing, swishing, swishing in a show of annoyance.  
  
Rom nods to the drink in Shuuzo’s hand, “A few more of those and you will, too.”  
  
“Is that a challenge?”

  
  
  
  
  
Rom hadn’t actually intended for it to be a challenge, but a few ludicrously colored martinis later, Shuuzo’s fairing just about as well as he is, struggling to pick up his coat from the back of the barstool, laughing with every misstep.  
  
“I told you I could do it,” Shuuzo says, hanging on to Rom’s forearm, painted nails digging into his skin, “You always said I was a lightweight.”  
  
He’d only had two and a half cocktails, but Rom doesn’t argue and slides his arm around Shuuzo’s slim waist, guiding him out the back door of the bar. He didn’t bother tossing a ‘good-bye’ to the rest of his companions—they already knew not to expect him home.  
  
  
  
  
  
The back alley is dark and the cool night air feels good on Rom’s skin, sweaty from the insufferable heat from the back of the bar and warm with the alcohol running through his veins. There isn’t much lighting the way as they stumble toward the sidewalk except for Shuuzo’s brilliant hair, shining bright in the low streetlamp-light.  
  
“I forgot how much fun going out could be,” Shuuzo laughs, leaning against Rom’s chest, “I don’t get a lot of it anymore.” His voice drops nearly to a whisper and he keeps close, falling into step with Rom. Rom doesn’t reply immediately, only wraps his arm tighter around Shuuzo’s shoulders.  
  
“You work hard for your dreams,” he says at last, and Shuuzo looks up at him through his long eyelashes, eyes wide in surprise.  
  
They don’t say anything else the rest of the way to Shuuzo’s apartment.  
  
  
  
  
  
“Come inside,” Shuuzo says at last, fingers wrapped around his keys. His eyes are pleading, _begging,_ and his other hand grips tightly onto Rom’s vest. Rom’s stomach flips and turns and he hesitates. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t _want_ this outcome, but in a moment of clarity and he wonders if it’s right. If they can keep doing this.  
  
His brain repeats _I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t for my sake. I shouldn’t for your sake,_ but he doesn’t voice the words inside his head and leans down, pressing his lips to Shuuzo’s, soft and warm and stained with the faint taste of liquor and strawberries, tongue darting inside his mouth.  
  
Shuuzo pushes against Rom’s mouth harder and fumbles with the lock on his apartment door finally prying the door open and tumbles them both inside, laughing against the other man’s mouth. It isn’t decorous in the slightest, it’s sloppy and disjointed and brimming with all the things they’ve never said to one another, only given in longing glances when they think no one else is watching.  
  
Rom only breaks the kiss long enough to slam the door closed with his foot, hoisting Shuuzo around his hips and carrying him into the bedroom.  
  
  
  
  
  
“I missed this,” Shuuzo breathes, sliding his mouth down the length of Rom’s cock, saliva pooling in the corners of his mouth. He’s going painfully slow, taking every inch between his soft lips, and he’s good, so unbelievably _good_ sometimes Rom wonders how he can bother lasting as long as he does.  
  
“It hasn’t been that—that long,” Rom replies, looking down, wrapping one hand in Shuuzo’s blond hair, tugging at the roots.  
  
Rom’s breathing slows when Shuuzo flicks his eyes upward, clouded with a deep, primal lust, and smiles, canines flashing for a second before making a humming noise in the back of his throat.  He pulls back for a second and whispers, “It’s always too long.”

  
  
  
  
  
One of Rom’s hands is wrapped around Shuuzo’s hipbone, the other at the base of his tail, yanking and pulling, using it as leverage to drive himself deeper. He looks down at Shuuzo, collapsed against the mattress, trying to use his forearms to support his torso.  
  
“I missed this,” he says into the pillows, pushing his body upright again before giving up and falling over, face buried in his arms, “God I missed this,” he cries again as Rom drives deeper, thrusting his body back against Rom’s cock, fingers wrapping in the sheets. “I missed—“ Shuuzo whispers, but the rest of his words fall into the darkness.  
  
Rom doesn’t bother asking him what he’d meant to say. He digs his nails into Shuuzo’s hipbones, dragging his sharp nails along Shuuzo’s skin. He wanted Shuuzo to remember, he wanted Shuuzo to think about him when it hurt the next morning, he wanted Shuuzo to feel the same ache in his chest when they made eye contact at the next live.  
  
_I missed you, too._  
  
  
  
  
  
It’s always the same the morning after. It doesn’t matter what was said, it doesn’t matter whether Shuuzo pressed himself into Rom’s chest and begged him to hold him close, it doesn’t matter that Rom kissed the top of his head and told him over and over.  
  
_I missed you, too._  
  
They pretend they’re strangers, and Rom knew that.  
  
So it’s a surprise when Rom wakes up to the light streaming in through the window, untangling himself from Shuuzo’s limbs and Shuuzo grabs his hand.  
  
“Don’t go,” he says, eyes still closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, and curls his fingers around Rom’s, tugging him back onto the mattress.  
  
“Shu, I—“ Rom starts to say and runs his fingers through his blond hair, soft strands slipping through his hands and traces a thumbnail down his face, running it along his jawbone. _I want to, I missed you, I need you_ running through his body, but instead Rom shakes his head, “I can’t,” he finishes.  
  
It makes Shuuzo laugh, pointed ears folding back against his head, and he cracks an eye open, “I can’t believe you still call me that,” he says, letting go of Rom’s hand.  
  
“You’ll always be Shu to me,” Rom says and leans over, giving him a peck on the cheek. He finds his clothes and leaves without saying another word, but he can almost make out Shuuzo’s words behind him, reverberating soundlessly into the down of the pillow.  
  
_Don’t go, I miss you._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! c:


End file.
